The men of the Dragonsbane Brigade rushed to do Ajaxx’s bidding. The canvases covering the two starboard and the aft ballistae were ripped away, and three bolts were hastily shoved into the slots of the siege machines. While one man aimed, two other soldiers cranked back the thick bowstring until the bow went almost bent double.

“FIRE AT WILL!” bellowed Ajaxx, and the deck of the Precious leapt as three ballistae fired, sending a powerful kickback reverberating through the ship. Due to the rocking, one bolt missed and went wide, but the remaining bolts found their mark and buried deep into the slithering body of the locknest.

“RELOAD!” Ajaxx ordered, then fell to the deck as the infuriated locknest pounded it’s body against the Precious. The two bolts had wounded it only a little, but was causing the creature great pain. And it was hungry. Very hungry.

“FIRE WHEN READY!” shouted Ajaxx.

Again the three ballistae fired, and again the Precious rocked violently. But this time all of the bolts missed.

“It’s submerged!” cried Japheth.

There was a cheer, but Ajaxx shouted above the din, “SHUTTUP, SHUTTUP!”

The Dragonsbane Brigade fell silent.

“We scared it off.” suggested one soldier meekly.

Ajaxx looked at Japheth. Japheth shook his head violently.

“Me eye be still itchin’”

A geyser of white water suddenly erupted not from the starboard side of the ship. The locknest stretched upward like a slimy-green pillar and then collapsed across the deck of the Precious, jaws snapped. Dragon Masters screamed and scattered, but a few were caught in the jaws of the monster and others were crushed by it’s flailing bulk. As it snapped up prey, the locknest’s bulbous head repeatedly smashed against the mainmast, causing large cracks to form. Ajaxx saw this and swore, “TYCO!”

With a fluid sweep, Ajaxx drew out his three-and-a-half-foot-long great sword and charged.

“DRAGONSBANE!!!!”

He hit the locknest hard. His armor crumpled and something inside him cracked, probably his ribs. But he kept going, kept pushing. His sword went deep, deep into the mouth of the locknest. Deep into the flesh. Deep into the brain. The locknest went insane, thrashing about and emitting a snake-like hiss as it spewed it’s own blood all over Ajaxx and the Precious. Ajaxx’s sword became dislodged, and he was shot back, sword still in hand where he crashed into the bulwark. Suddenly heartened by their leader’s valiant attack, the Dragonsbane Brigade snatched up their weapons and charged the creature, beating back off the deck with pikes and battle-axes. Still thrashing, but with it’s movements starting to slow, the locknest slipped off the deck and sunk into the sea, leaving a stain of blood. As soon as they had made sure the beast was truly gone, they all rushed as one to Ajaxx. Amazingly, he was already standing, and painfully removing his battered armor.

“Very good, men,” he wheezed, “Japheth, report!”

After a head count, Japheth stated, “Lost sixteen men, sir, at least thirty be wounded.”

“How be the Precious?”

Captain Dolter said, “She’ll sail, but there be flooding below, and ‘er rudder’s a bit sticky.”

“Men,” Ajaxx said, “All those who be not wounded, either get to the pumps or be fixing below holes. Captain Dolter.”

“Aye, sir?”

“Get us back on course.”

“Aye, sir.”

As the Dragonsbane Brigade dispersed, Japheth moved forward.

“Ajaxx, be you alright?”

Ajaxx nodded tightly. “Be it only a few cracked ribs and bruises.”

Ajaxx stumped out to where the locknest had come aboard and what was now only shattered railing and warped planking. He stared at the bloodstained deck and then with his left had made a quick gesture, a gestured used by Dragon Masters to curse their enemy.

“Sixteen good men.” Ajaxx sighed, “Megablock.”

Japheth approached from behind.

“Be it might…a warning?” he asked slowly.

“There be no such thing as signs.” snapped Ajaxx, “This be only a roadblock. One on many more to come, perhaps. But I be ready. Bring it on. Ajaxx Dragonsbane be ready.”

Formendacil wrote:"The novice-master's office is that way," and he pointed Jayko down the hall. "Now, good luck. Who knows when I'll see you again. I have to see the garrison commander, and then I have work to do. Farewell."

"You are Sir Jayko Falconensis, heritary Baron of Talonjay, former Governor of Barleyburg, vassal of King Matthias of the Eastern Knights' Kingdom?"

"Uh, yes, all of that," said Jayko, a bit nervous as he looked down at the steely face of the Cavalier novice-master. The man was thin, tall, and regal. He had a hooked nose, refined movements, a clipped accent, and an aura of command. His face was lined with but a few wrinkles and scars, although his hair a light silver. He was Captain-Colonel Marcellinus E'terriole, the chief recruiting officer for the Imperial Cavaliers, and the commanding officer of the Novice Regiments.

"But... um..." said Jayko. Captain-General E'terriole looked up in surprise. Few novices dared to speak up in his presence.

"Yes?" his voice was like a knife.

"I'm not the, uh, former governor of Barleyburg," said Jayko. "Until King Matthias rescinds it, which he hasn't yet, I'm still the legal Governor, even if the, uh, title is disputed."

"Noted."

E'terriole looked back at the parchment Jayko had brought him. At the bottom was the seal of the commanding officer of the Talistrani Cavaliers, the seal of Bernard Quorandis.

"Commander-General Quorandis says that he is pleased to recommend you to the ranks, that you are an eager young man, willing to please, with decent habits and intelligence, and a basic knowledge of arms, and a more than average skill as a rider. I will take the Commander-General's word for that. The message seems to be in order.

"Very well, Baron Jayko: from this day forth, when giving your name, in your capacity as a member of the Order of the Imperial Cavaliers of Legoland, you are to address yourself as Novice-Cadet Jayko Falconensis. You are also required to give the Secondary Oath of Allegiance, as a foreign citizen serving in the Imperial ranks. I'll tell you right now that I do not hold with foreigners in the Imperial forces, but you have the recommendation of the Commander-General, and our forces are still not at full strength. Repeat after me:

So Jayko recited the following oath:

"I, Baron Jayko Falconensis of the Eastern Knights' Kingdom, do, as a citizen of greater Dametreos, swear allegiance to Constantius VII, Emperor of Legoland, and all of his legitimate successors, for so long as I may serve in his armies. I swear to follow all the laws and regulations pertaining to the Imperial Cavaliers. I foreswear, until my time of service is done, any conflicting allegiance with any other nation or power."

"And I, Marcellinus E'terriole, as representative officer of His Imperial Majesty, do witness this oath, and declare you bound, until your time of service in the Imperial Forces shall end.

"Welcome to the army, Novice-Cadet Falconensis."

E'terriole then rang a bell, summoning a young cadet to his office.

"Novice-Cadet Vitore, conduct Novice-Cadet Falconensis here to the barracks. See that he is provided with a uniform and a bunk. He will begin duties and training at the start of the next session. Novice-Cadets, you are dismissed."

Vitore led Jayko out of the office, and down the halls, away from the offices of the Cavaliers, and down towards the barracks of the Cadets.

"Just joined then?" asked Vitore with a winning smile. He was a handsome young man. "My congratulations! Good stuff. I'm Arthur Vitore, pleased to meet you."

SavaTheAggie wrote:"But I have a feeling it was a gang of evil men who did this horrible thing to you. Five, maybe ten men, far too many to defend against," he smirked, raising his hood over his head, "and I was never here."

The Wanderer stood up slowly, sheathing his sword, and walked away.

Grid: D-2
Location: Just west of Kingston
Time: nightfall

A lone, cloaked figure stood outside of Kingston, hiding in the shadow. The man stood quietly leaning against a tall tree; his gaze fixed upon the street entering the city. If one were to have looked in his direction, the color of his cloak and the heavy shadows would have made it impossible to distinguish man from tree.

'I hate cities...' the man thought to himself, taking a long puff from his pipe, 'Hundreds of souls gathered together, making themselves busy with their routines, totally secure in their solidarity. If only they knew what is to come.'

The man chuckled to himself softly, letting the smoke escape his lips.

'There would be such chaos in the streets, such a chorus of screaming and lamentation.'

The shadowy figure slowly pushed himself upright off the tree and began slowly making his way toward the road and the city beyond.

'If I am to succeed, I'm going to have to work my way through the city quickly before its' too late.'

The Wanderer crept softly down the side of the street, close to the buildings, making sure to look like he belonged. The less he looked out of place, the less likely people would notice him. He glanced quickly from beneath his hood at each building he passed, looking at the signs and into the uncovered windows. Past inns and cobblers, taverns and tailors, he made his way deeper and deeper into the city.

A figure quickly peered around the corner of a building in the distance and then disappeared again. The Wanderer quickly darted forward, turning the corner to see a man running at full speed away from him. He quickly yanked a dagger from his boot and threw it with all his strength. The blade flew swiftly, whistling through the air until it sank deep into the back of the running man's leg.

Slowing his pace, the cloaked figure strolled over to the now wounded man, causing bystanders to flee behind locked doors. Crouching down next to the sniveling man, the Wanderer pulled back the hood of his cloak.

"Tsk, tsk, Marius," his gravel voice chided as the cloaked man shook his head, "Is this any way to greet an old friend?"

"What do you want from me?"

"Where is he, Marius?" the cloaked figure demanded, grabbing Marius by the collar and bringing their faces closer together.

"Where is who?" Marius laughed nervously.

"You've been following them for years, spying on them, don't LIE to ME, Marius," the Wanderer growled angrily.

"I don't know who you're ta..."

"WHERE?!" he interrupted, shouting.

"On... on the mainland! Hiding in the dark forest!" Marius sniveled. He began to writhe more, now, trying to free himself enough to tend to the wound in his leg.

"Who is with him?" the cloaked man growled, twisting the dagger in Marius' leg. The man lead out a sharp scream of pain.

"His wife and son!"

"I need to find them, Marius," the wanderer twisted the dagger more.

"I don't know where they are anymore, I lost them and had to come back here! I swear! I don't know anymore!"

The cloaked man grabbed the handle of his dagger firmly, still lodged in Marius' leg, and with a little flurish pulled it out quickly in the most painful way possible. Marius cried out, twisting on the ground, grasping his leg.

"I'll give you the last piece of advice I'll ever give you, Marius," the cloaked man sighed, rising to his feet, returning his dagger to its' sheath, "Stay away from the cities, if you know what's good for you."

Marius crawled away to the side of a building and curled up into the fetal position, weeping in pain.

The Wanderer smirked, recovering his head with his hood. Without a word, he began walking away, making his way south and out of the city.

Last edited by SavaTheAggie on Tue May 24, 2005 5:22 am, edited 1 time in total.

Give a man a fire and he'll be warm for a day.Set a man on fire and he'll be warm for the rest of his life.

Dragoman wrote:Grid: S-1Location: Solitaire IslandAnd so that night they left for the cave made of ruby in hopes of finding the Underworld Passage to Hellecell

When they had found the cave, it was something of great amazement for like before the ruby was glowing , but this time they came during the hours of night which accentuated its illuminating magnificence, unlike before however they did not pause but simply continued towards the luminosity ruby covered cave.

No one made a sound or spoke a word as they entered. They kept to their Shadow ways of stealth and remained vigilant. As they were going deeper in to the cave the quantity of ruby along the walls began to lessen and so their light began to fade.

Theron was leading at the head while Arthus was just behind along with Jedrek. They moved swiftly with out delay. None quite knew exactly what they might find at the end of the tunnel but with Theron at the front there was little doubt that nothing would get them by surprise. Still, the anxiety was rising.

They soon reached a point where they could no longer see before them though this did not slow them down. Shadow Knights are quite use to the darkness and have no problem moving through it, and so they were very much in their element. But after a mile or so of this they soon began to see faint signs of a red light coming from the void and soon it became clear that they’re getting close to what they feared to enter.

Thomas Valt was walking down through the spruce groves that bordered his home village of Hemmerington to the west, in the few leagues between it and the Fell Sea. Thomas wasn't doing anything in particular, just out for a morning stroll.

It was truly spring now in the Fell Isle. The snows were totally gone, even deep below the dark, dense, groves. The flowers were all abloom, the deciduous trees had all sprouted leaves, and the sun now shone with a warm intensity. It had rained the night before, and there was a beautiful, clean scent wafting up from the forest floor.

Thomas was alone on the path. Like most of the Fell Isle, the Dark Forest territory was little settled, with large tracts of wild space, and the villages, although there were quite a few, were scattered. Hemmerington was one of the more obscure villages, located quite a way from the next town, and even farther from any ports or towns of greater note. No roads of import ran past it, and there were few settlements in the land about. It was major news in the village if a tinker came by, or if a traveller passed through. The closeknit community of a few hundred knew everyone's secrets quickly.

Since most of the community was at work, and since they were of a hard-working mentality for the most part, there were no local people wandering down the path westward either.

Thomas wasn't working, obviously. It was not that he was a lazy boy, or that he was unskilled. No, it had more to do with the fact that Thomas was no craftsman's apprentice, and the hard work of getting the crops in was done. What work there was to be done now could be handled easily by the resident farmers.

There was no particular, immediate need for Thomas to work. The needs of himself and his grandfather were simple, and his grandfather was able to provide what was needed fairly easily. But they were not wealthy, and Harold Brakespear was an old man. The day must come eventually when Thomas must provide for himself, and a family, if he had one.

Thomas wasn't quite sure WHAT he wanted to do with his life. This question, among others, occupied him as he wandered down the forest path. His grandfather was an armsmith, but both of them had admitted many years ago that Thomas had no aptitude for the craft. He took more after his father and mother, Brakespear had said. Both of Thomas' parents had been adventurers, and had come to a rather sticky end, which Thomas didn't really care to talk about.

Like his parents, Thomas liked tales and stories of great doings: battles and romances. Of all the people in Hemmerington, he had probably been the most excited by the reports of the Fell War. He had listened entranced to the tales of King Radjar's bravery and daring. The stories of the Great BloodVaine War had held him enthralled. And when news had come the week before of the new Queen Arabella, Thomas had been one of the most interested- and disappointed. Thomas knew nothing of ruling a kingdom, and loved the stories of the adventurer-king.

No travellers had passed through Hemmerington of late, so Thomas had no idea of the state of the war up in the Wolfpack land. It was a bad mess, by all accounts, and there were fears that the conflict might spread over the borders. Although Thomas loved the great stories, he didn't want any such thing to happen. He was too devoted to his home.

As he was thinking this, Thomas heard sounds down the path ahead of him. It was a large band of men, marching up from the coast. Thomas had no way of knowing it, but they were Wolfpack, men of Varras' forces, who had fled the Daggerfall Spire following the battle, and sailed south. They had come ashore to repair their ship, and to acquire goods.

It is a sad fact, but war tends to bring out the worst in some people, and these Wolfpack warriors were proof of that. Too many months of fighting themselves, the forces of BloodVaine, and the Dark Forest had left them with little sensitivity or care for others. They were greedy, mean, and cared nothing for the Dark Forest villagers they intended to plunder and rape.

Now, as said, there was no way that Thomas could know this. However, the very sound of the men, once he could hear them, was quite bad, and Thomas took the immediate precaution of diving into forest, and ducking down below a large boulder. The Wolfpack soon came round a bend, and into view. There were eleven of them: mismatchingly-armed, ugly with scars, and talking greedily of what they intended to do to the villagers.

Thomas didn't know what to do, other than stay out of sight. He wanted to warn the village, but didn't dare try and move.

Then he heard something. Another traveller was striding up the path, and gaining on the Wolfpack. He seemed intent on catching them, but looking at him, Thomas doubted that he was one of them. The traveller, a big man with black hair, beard, and broad shoulders, dressed in Forestmen green- and black.

"I couldn't help overhearing your conversation!" he called to the Wolfpack- a bit too bravely, Thomas thought. "But I am afraid I must ask you to turn back. Those villagers are not to be harmed."

"You're one man," said one of the Wolfpack, with a leer. "What can you do?"

"Allow me to demonstrate."

The big man, who Thomas was quickly noticing to be a warrior, pulled out an impressively large battleaxe from his belt, and launched himself at the Wolfpack. Thomas' jaw dropped. The big man was a warrior all right, and a warrior of very impressive skills. He moved extremely fast, and with cat-like grace, parrying blows, slicing at the Wolfpack off their guard, dancing out of their reach. The battle was soon over, as the remaining three Wolfpack dashed down the road, back towards their ship.

The big warrior then turned, and looked straight at where Thomas was hiding.

"You can come out, boy," he said. "I've no intention of hurting you."

To his credit, Thomas jumped out quickly, and patiently walked over to meet the black-beared warrior.

"Is this town up ahead Hemmerington?" asked the big man.

"Yes," said Thomas, "although I can't imagine why you'd be looking for it."

"I'm looking for one Harold Brakespeare. I was told I could find him here," said the big man.

Cynan groaned and tried to sit up. There was a great pounding in his head, and his side felt like it was on fire.

He seemed to be alone, but there were the remains of a fire nearby, so there was probably someone in the area. He tried to call out, but no words came to his mouth. He felt for his sword, but it had been taken, so had his shield.

He disregarded the pain in his thigh and sat up. As he looked around, he saw the corpses of other men, and the smell of decay reached his nostrils. He felt sick; someone had obviously not cared enough to even burn the bodies. But why had they gone to the trouble to crudely bandage his wound?

And where was he? What happened? He remembered running through the woods after someone, and than stopping, and than fighting. But then what? He knew he didn’t kill all those men.

Suddenly there was a snap of a twig. As Cynan looked in the direction it came in, he saw the shadow of a man coming towards him. He quickly scanned the ground for something to use as a weapon as the figure moved closer, but found nothing in his reach.

As the man came out of the trees and into the light, a look of disbelief came over Cynan; it was the samurai he’d been chasing! The one who had gotten him into this fine mess! Cynan didn’t know if the samurai had helped him or not, but he felt a great anger burning inside him. He would make the samurai pay!

When the samurai came close enough, Cynan struck out with his fist. But he hurt himself more than the samurai.

“Careful now, that wound is not healed yet.” said the samurai softly, as if to a child.

Cynan glared up at him, but said nothing. He realized how foolish he had been; if he offended the man, he could easily get himself killed.

They looked at each other for some time, neither saying anything, when at last Cynan broke the silence. “Wh… Why did…” He stopped. His voice sounded strange and harsh, and it hurt his throat to speak. “Why did you help me?”

After a pause he went on “I mean… You… You do know that I… I’m the one who kidnapped you…. Don’t you?”

The samurai looked at him with almost a sad look in his eyes, than replied “Yes I do.”

“Then… Then why did you help me?”

“Because you needed it.”

Cynan looked at the man with a new found admiration. He still hated him, but he admired him at the same time.

He then gestured to the dead bodies around him and said “What about them. Didn’t they need help too!?” he shut his mouth quickly as he realized how scornful he sounded, but the samurai didn’t seem to notice.

“Yes, they probably did. But every battle has to have a winner.”

Suddenly there was a great shouting, and the sound of people running through the woods, when a young boy burst out of the brush calling “Sir! Sir! There are Shadow Knights coming!”

“How long was it since you found me” said Cynan franticly.

“At least a week” the samurai replied as he drew his sword “maybe more.”

“We got to get out of here!” said Cynan as he stiffly stood up.

“Too late” The samurai drew another sword and handed it to Cynan “Here they come!”

Vanderdious was taking a break from all the madness. He was outside, sipping a frothy brew, and staring at the Black Falcon landscape. It was evening, the time when twilight merges into true darkness and one could see where one was going without a light, but just barely. It was a warm night, a spring night, and as such Vanderdious was not the only one outside enjoying the soft breeze and fresh air. But he was the only one in the second-story balcony of the Falcon Spire, and therefore was the highest off the ground. And so, he was the first to catch a glimpse of the Forestmen envoy. Of course, he couldn’t tell it was Forestmen, but the master of masks knew at once that a party of persons were approaching. A large party, to be sure. As Vanderdious set down his drained mug, he could count over two dozen baubles of light floating in the deepening darkness.

“So…at least twenty-four people, assuming each one is carrying a light…”

Leaving his mug on the carved stone railing, Vanderdious turned about and left the balcony. He walked quickly down a flight of stairs and entered the main courtyard, where a fountain gurgled and bright flowers swayed in the night breeze. Vanderdious took a short-cut over a flowerbed (Mayriz would have been furious at him for doing that if she had caught him -- it was her who now kept the gardens in order) and descend more stairs. He smelled it before he saw it: a gathering of stables, three in number with five stalls each, housing the horses of the residents of the Spire. After murmuring a few soft words to the stable boy, Vanderdious took one of the horses, a gentle mare named Thyme, and rode her bare-back to the gates of Falconis City. As he dismounted and tied Thyme up, he could hear the Black Falcon guards conversing with the group.

“Halt! What’s your business, sirs?”

“We are Forestmen. We came at the request of the Lone Falcon.”

The Black Falcon guards muttered among themselves, then they dispersed. A few moments later the great twin arched doors of the gatehouse slowly creaked open. At that moment one of the guards recognized Vanderdious and saluted.

“Newcomers, sir. Says they’re Forestmen.”

“I see. I’ll deal with this. Send someone back to the Lone Falcon to alert him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Vanderdious walked forward, stopped ten paces away from the lead person. The person did not hesitate. He moved forward, and as the light from a torch flickered upon his lean face, tattoos and twin pointed ears were revealed. An elf. The elf halted and bowed slightly.

“Greetings. I am Gonderin. Lord Bjarn sent me.”

Gonderin handed over a parchment bearing the official seal of the League Of Forestmen. Vanderdious took only a second to study it, then returned Gonderin’s bow.

“Welcome, Gonderin of the Forestmen. My name is Vanderdious. The Lone Falcon will be glad to hear of your arrival.”

Gonderin nodded. With intense eyes, he glanced swiftly behind him, them back at Vanderdious.

“Lady Helen Tillshire-Falconis.”

It was a presentation. Gonderin backed away, nodding at a figure clad in silvery-black. The woman glided over to Vanderdious, swept back her hood, and smiled.

“Milady.”

Vanderdious bent and kissed her hand. Then he straitened and looked into her eyes. Vanderdious was an excellent judge of character, and he saw in Lady Helen someone who had suffered much, but had survived, and was much stronger because of it. Her face was lined, but still pretty, with dark eyes and a firm jaw. Her hair, like her cloak, was silver-black. She was a strong woman, and she looked it. But she also had grace, a skilled learned long ago in the Black Falcon palace and never forgotten.

“Vanderdious.” she molded the name over her tongue smoothly, “I had a friend of that name once…long ago, when I was a girl.”

Vanderdious bowed his head slightly. “Milady, I hesitate to suggest, but perhaps he could have been my father. I was named after him, and he was a servant-boy in the Royal Court.”

Lady Helen’s smiled grew, a curving arc not unlike the waning moon.

“Of course. Vanny the kitchen boy. We had great fun together, stealing apples and pies. Cook would get so mad…”

Her smiled faded slightly.

“Of course, Father never approved of me mingling with the servants…how is your father?” she added.

Vanderdious bowed his head. “Dead, my lady. He died in the Bull-Falcon War.”

Lady Helen’s eyes grew sad, and her smiled faded once again.

“My heart falls. I am terribly sorry to hear that.”

Vanderdious coughed, then said, “The Lone Falcon will be waiting. He is most eager to speak with you.”

Lady Helen nodded, and then put out her hand. Awkwardly, Vanderdious took it, and slowly led her, with the Forestmen and a few Black Falcon soldiers behind, to the Spire. They ascended the stairs, and with two sharp knocks, entered the Lone Falcon’s room. The Lone Falcon was at his desk, but he was not writing. The desk was clear of papers, and several wine glasses and a bottle of wine sat upon it. Several chairs, all padded with faded blue silk, were positioned around it.

“Lady Helen Tillshire-Falconis.” Vanderdious presented formally. He backed out of the room, stopped next to Gonderin.

“We have brought food.” said Gonderin, “And this.”

He handed over a roll of parchment. Vanderdious looked at his. It was a treaty.

“Lord Bjarn wishes friendship with the Black Falcons.” continued Gonderin, “This, of course, is the preliminary contract. Lord Bjarn will be in attendance to sign the true treaty after Lady Helen’s coronation.”

Formendacil wrote:"That's a promise you'll get with no difficulty," laughed Sir Dractor. "But I'll be here a day or two anyway. I'm not going to leave this very night."

"I'll try and get those memoirs written before you get back," said Bjarn, "so don't be TOO quick about it. I'll need to find myself another project after it though..."

"I'm sure you'll think of something."

"Oh, I always have. Or someone else has for me."

Grid: M-8Location: Drullen Bell Keep

Note: This post takes place before Mike’s recent “Thomas” post

When they arrived back at the Keep, Bjarn disappeared into his study for several minutes. Sir Dractor occupied the time by adding to his pack some food from the Drullen Bell larders, in addition to the food Shainya and Reno had pressed upon him. When that was done, he returned to the forge, where he retrieved his battle-axe that he had dropped off with Rodurik before leaving with Bjarn for the Warblewood. Now the blade was sharp, and the handle polished grandly.

“Thank you very much, Rodurik,” said Sir Dractor sincerely.

“Not at all, sir. Good luck with finding Brakespear. He is the best armor smith in Dametreos.”

Sir Dractor looked at his gleaming axe.

“You don’t to too bad yourself.” he smiled.

Rodurik shrugged.

“Brakespear’s an armor smith. Me, I’m a blacksmith. Sure, I can do weapons, but I prefer other items. Hoes. Shovels. Pickaxe heads. Peaceful wares.”

Sir Dractor nodded.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” added Rodurik. He took out a small token threaded on a piece of wire.

“You’ll need this. It’s the sign of the guild and my own personal seal.”

Rodurik laughed. “Imagine, me, a humble blacksmith, having a seal.”

Then he turned serious again.

“You’ll need that to get Brakespear to do anything for you. Plus lots of gold, of course. Oh, and --” he added, “I would like that back, when you’re done, if you don’t mind. Not too useful nowadays, but a good keepsake nonetheless.”

Sir Dractor accepted the token and bowed.

“Again, thank you Rodurik.”

“Good luck on your journey.”

“And to you and your craft.”

They parted, Sir Dractor returning upstairs. There he found Bjarn, who was holding a parchment.

“Here,” Bjarn thrust the parchment into Sir Dractor’s hands, “This should get you inside Dark Forest land. Keep it safe. It’s the highest security pass a king can give. If you get into trouble, destroy it.”

Sir Dractor tucked it away next to Rodurik’s token.

“Thank you, Bjarn.”

Bjarn smiled. They looked at one another, then they embraced, both pounding one another one the back.

“Remember,” Bjarn said as they separated, “You owe me a visit. A long visit.”

“I look forward to it.” said Sir Dractor, “And thank you.”

The giant Tree-Gong tolled.

“You best hurry to the docks. The flatboat ferry will be leaving soon for Fell Isle.”

Sir Dractor nodded, and strode to the doorway. On it’s threshold, he turned and waved. Then he was gone. Bjarn, a smile still on his lips, sighed and returned to his study. Time to write, again.

The Lone Falcon had been reasonably sure that Lady Helen would accept the throne (he was good that way), and the preparations were in place for the coronation to begin whenever he ordered it.

Within two days, he did.

Despite the short notice, the turnout for the coronation was immense, easily twice those that had shown up for the coronation of Hindrich, Falconis XXIX.

The ceremony began with the arrival of Lady Helen. She arrived in a black and silver-gilded carriage, escorted by a company of cavalry officers in shining ceremonial armour. The crowds outside the Spire rose in tumultous applause as she descended from the carriage, to the steps of the building. Dressed in a royal blue dress, and and ermine-trimmed black cloak, with silver jewelry, she paused to wave regally at the crowds, smiling at their excitement, then ascended the stairs, escorted by an honour guard of twelve lance-carrying soldiers.

The atrium of the Spire was lined with merchants and minor nobles, who bowed as she passed through their ranks. Then the heavy doors of the Throne Chamber were opened, and she was escorted down its centre towards the Royal Dais.

The Chamber was packed with lords, captains, ladies, and foreign ambassadors. Prominent among the guests were the exiled King of the Wolfpack, Willem Blackcloak, and Gonderin, Military Commander of the League of Forestmen. A silver-haired Royal Knight, and a representative of the Emperor were also in prominent attendance.

They reached the head of the chamber. Lady Helen took her seat of the tall, ebony throne of the sovereign. Her escort took places along the wall behind her. She gestured for the crowd to take their seats, which had been provided for the occasion.

The Lord Protector, the Lone Falcon, came to the dais, bowed to the lady, and addressed the crowd.

"We are gathered here today to witness the being of a new reign!" he announced. "Today begins the reign of Helen Tillshire-Falconis. But we are also here to witness a new era of Black Falcon history!

"By decree of the Interim Parliament, the former Kingdom of the Black Falcons, as ruled by the House of Falconis, has been dissolved. In its place, the new United Kingdom of the Black Falcons has been created. The days of monarchial dictatorship are over, and the constitutional guided rule of the sovereign and people is officially begun on this day.

"In accordance with this, the laws governing the rule of our land have been changed. The new Queen, once crowned, will not have the absolute powers that her father and brother held. She will rule in accordance with the Constitution enacted by the provisional government, and will share the powers of the government with the Houses of Parliament.

"This also marks the formal end of the House of Hohenzollern as the Royal Family of our people, which has ruled since 1634. Henceforth, the ruling dynasty of this great nation is the House of Tillshire-Falconis. And no longer shall the ruling monarch take his or her name as Falconis, as did the Hohenzollern sovereigns or their predecessors, the Schwarzes.

"I ask you all, therefore, to stand in witness to the coronation of our new queen!"

The audience rose as one, and the Lone Falcon turned to address the Lady Helen.

"Do you, Helen Bethany Lauren Tillshire-Falconis, daughter of Falconis XXVIII, and heir of Falconis XXIX, accept the throne and governance of the United Kingdom of the Black Falcons, foreswearing all previous powers of the monarchy, saving those that the provisional government has given you?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to be an honourable and worthy queen of your people, to obey the laws of the Constitution, to honour the power of Parliament, and to stand by the rights of your citizens?"

"I do."

"And do you promise to uphold the dignity of the nation, to defend them in times of war, to guide them in times of peace, and to comfort them in times of strife?"

"I do."

"Then, by the power invested in me as Lord Protector of the United Kingdom of the Black Falcons, do herewith ask you to kneel, and prepare to accept the crown of the Kingdom."

Lady Helen rose from the throne, and gracefully knelt on the dais. The Lone Falcon raised the sapphire-encrusted, silver crown of Falconis VI above her head, raised his eyes heavenward, and proclaimed in a loud voice.

"We have heard her swear to do what is just! We have ascertained that her claim is fair! Let us now do as we are divinely bound!"

The Lone Falcon gently placed the crown on Lady Helen's head.

"I crown you Helen I, Queen of the United Kingdom of the Black Falcons, Lady of Falconis City, Guardian and Defender of Parliament, Sovereign of the realm!"

Then, as he himself dropped to one knee, he called: "all pay homage to our new queen."

The audience dropped down to their knees, and proclaimed in a loud voice: "Hail Queen Helen! Long live the Queen!"

At the top of the Spire, the bells began to joyfully proclaim the coronation of the new queen, and in the streets the crowds sent up loud cheers. Graygon, now a de-facto prince of the realm, for once dressed in Black Falcon garb, from his place in the front row, silently shed a tear of joy as his mother finally received the due she deserved from her people. But he knew that, for himself, he would never be able to follow her footsteps. His people were elsewhere.

Queen Helen rose to her feet, and bid her people rise.

"My people!" she said. "I promise to do everything to preserve what you have fought so hard to achieve these past few months, and to restore the tarnished prestige of our great people. I ask that you help me in this, so that we will once again be the great nation we once were."

As the applause arose, the Queen descended from the dais, escorted by her honour guard, and out of the Throne Chamber. From the atrium, she made her way up the grand staircase to the second story. There, from the balcony over the main doors, she presented herself to the cheering crowds.

Formendacil wrote:As the applause arose, the Queen descended from the dais, escorted by her honor guard, and out of the Throne Chamber. From the atrium, she made her way up the grand staircase to the second story. There, from the balcony over the main doors, she presented herself to the cheering crowds.

A new age had officially begun.

Grid: G-7
Location: Falconis City

After the coronation, all the honored guests filtered into the great hall adjacent the Spire to eat and drink and talk. At the high table of honor was the new Queen Lady Helen, Prince Graygon, Prime Minister Drakko, and the Lord Protector Lone Falcon. Nearby at another table sat the ambassadors from the four visiting nations: Lord Willem Blackcloak, Commander Gonderin, and the Classic and Royal representatives. Though the latter two were eagerly supping, Gonderin was not eating, and Willem seemed distracted.

“Look at him.” Willem chuckled, indicating Graygon, “He looks a might uncomfortable. Prince Graygon of the Black Falcons! Who would have thought?”

Gonderin did not reply. He was not one for idle talk.

“Lord Blackcloak,” he said formally, “I have news to deliver.”

Willem turned. “What?”

“The Wolfpack civil war has come to a close. Lady Ciroal has fled. Lord Houndstooth has disappeared. Lord Varras is dead. The Throne Of The Three Daggers lies empty and waiting.”

Willem’s eyes grew wide. Then he stood abruptly.

“My thanks, Commander Gonderin. This is grand news indeed.”

He hurriedly removed his napkin from his collar and tossed it on his chair.

“I must leave a once!”

Leaving Gonderin at the table with the two other ambassadors, Willem Blackcloak approached the high table and bowed before Queen Helen.

“Forgive me, milady,” he began, “But I fear I must leave this fine celebration prematurely. I have received news from my kingdom. I am needed back there.”

Prince Graygon, who had been looking bored, sat up.

“What? What has happened?”

“The war has ended,” said Willem, “I must return to claim the throne.”

“I’m coming with you!” said Graygon, leaping up. Then he halted, and looked at his mother with a pained look on his face. Queen Helen nodded slowly.

“Go, my son. Black Falcon blood may flow through your veins, but a Wolfpack member you are. Chodan’s speed.”

Graygon bowed and kissed his mother’s hand.

“Thank you, Mother. I will return soon, for a visit, once Wolfpack matters have been resolved.”

Then he stood, and nodded at Willem.

“Milord.”

Willem nodded. Then he bowed once again at the queen.

“Your Majesty, Prime Minister, Lord Protector, farewell.”

And with a flash of cloaks, the two men were gone. The Lone Falcon took a sip of wine and then said, “A great pity Lord Barbod could not attend. He would have enjoyed this steak.”

Prime Minister Drakko laughed.

“He would have indeed. But he had his own duties to attend to. He has an entire nation to rebuild.”

“And we will help him do that as well as we can once we get back on our own feet.” said Queen Helen firmly, “We owe much to the Bulls, most of which we can never repay, even if we tried.”

Prime Minister Drakko took up his glass.

“A toast. To Lord Barbod, to the Lone Falcon, to Lady Helen, and to all who made this happen.”

Santis was already snoring lightly. Jaythus couldn’t sleep for quite a while, still unused to sleeping out in the open, and not in the soft beds of the Castle.

But soon enough, he slept.

Grid: N-14
Location: Barleyburg, Talonjay

The next morning, Jaythus had awoken to Santis preparing a small breakfast. They had quickly started off again, leaving behind the flatlands as they galloped across the vast countryside, bound for the coastal port of Barleyburg, where King Mathias supposedly would meet them.

The landscape changed as they went on. Boulders gave way to small trees, shrubs to bushes, and dirt to grass. Jaythus was enjoying seeing the landscape in its full glory; after his years cooped up in the corridors and rooms of the Castle, the open sun and fresh wind upon his face felt like a blessing from the heavens above. (which they were, in a strange sort of a way)

Santis and Jaythus had been riding for another whole day before they saw the shining blue sea on the distant horizon. It was now early afternoon, and soon, the city of Barleyburg appeared, rooftops and chimneys jutting up from behind a wide wall and gate that enclosed the port town. The city was overlooked by Castle Talonjay, a large bley fortress with light blue flags fluttering on the battlements.

"I remember when this place was under siege only a few months ago." Santis said as they rode towards the gate.

"Who by?" Jaythus asked, intrigued.

"Some pirate or mercenary from Alendan named Danner Violess, I think," Santis explained. "After Jayko fled with the Old Man, he and his Alendan force broke into the town with ballistas and captured it. But me and some others were sent by the King to reclaim the place."

"What happened then?"

"We had a quite decent general, Viktor, I think his name was. What I can't remember was his last name, though. As he said, the midwife must have had hiccups when he was born."

Jaythus chuckled quietly as Santis finished.

"Anyway, Viktor and I joined up with Sir Jayson, the former guard captain, who was fighting in a resistance movement outside the city, striking at the Alendani soldiers from the countryside. We rallied our warriors beneath a high cliff nearby, and from there we invaded both the city and the castle by night and overran the pirates, most of whom were drunk at the time. It was a hard fight, but we came out tops. Pirates are no match for the elite soldiers of the King. Any survivors were chased down and executed. Talonjay was rid of those pirate scum for good." Jaythus noticed a hard tone in Santis's voice, which he didn't like at all.

"And what of Danner Violess?" he asked, more tentatively.

"He tried to escape Barleyburg with a few others on their ship, but Viktor, Jayson and I boarded their vessel before they could leave. Viktor cut down Violess, whilst Jasyon killed the other two soldiers. I slew Fenbooth, Violess's second."

"Sounds like an amazing fight, Santis," Jaythus answered, awed by the thought of the battle.

"Ah, it was, lad, it was. I went back to the Castle afterwards. Jayson said he'd stay on and rule Talonjay in Jayko's absence. Though I never found out what happened to Viktor. I heard he was discharged by King Mathias."

Jaythus would have spoken, but he was stopped as they finally reached the massive wooden gates of Barleyburg!

Last edited by Sir Kohran on Thu May 26, 2005 5:44 am, edited 2 times in total.

Lord_Of_The_LEGO wrote:The Lone Falcon took a sip of wine and then said, “A great pity Lord Barbod could not attend. He would have enjoyed this steak.”

Prime Minister Drakko laughed.

“He would have indeed. But he had his own duties to attend to. He has an entire nation to rebuild.”

Grid: I-6
Location: Reestablished Bull / Black Falcon border

Lord Barbod, spear in hand, stood atop a hill, looking down on the land in front of him. Not just any land. Bull land. His land. His nation’s land. The craggy Bull-King’s eyes pierced the landscape, soaking every detail. The rolling hills. The craggy stone outcroppings. The line of woods. The Barbuckle River. And the ruins. The ruins of Taurus Stronghold. The ruins of his home. It had once been grand, a fortress of stone and timber and iron. It had sat upon a mighty granite outcropping, rendering the fortress near-impenetrable. But it hadn’t been. And now, it was a mere pile of crumpled rock. But Barbod felt no sadness. He felt…reborn. Renewed. Reinvigorated. He felt ready. Ready to start over. Ready to begin again.

Barbod turned and descended the hill. He then made his way to the Bull camp, a journey of forty-five minutes. He greeted Dordrot with a warm smiled and a nod.

“Dordrot, my Bull. How feel ye?”

Dordrot shrugged. “Happy. But odd. I thought I would never return here.”

Barbod shook his head. “I felt it all along. I knew I’d come back. I knew, deep down, somehow, I would return.”

They were quiet for a moment, then Barbod said, “Jerral and his men leave, then?”

Dordrot nodded.

“Yes. They left about ten minutes ago.”

“Good. Once they get back to Glondur and Bull Isle we can get some more people up here. As for us,”

Barbod winked and tossed Dordrot a pickaxe.

“We dig. And mine. Stone’s don’t carve themselves.”

For two months, the camp of Bull soldiers became miners, woodsmen and farmers, gathering resources and slowly building a village. As the weeks passed, they were joined by more persons, Bull converts and friendly Black Falcons and Forestmen, willing to work in the hot summer sun to aid their friends the Bulls. With honest labor and trade, the Bull empire was being rebuilt, brick by brick. Barbod’s dream was coming true. The Bulls were rising again.

Night came quickly - almost too quickly for Johnson. The Aterops had two longboats and slowly these were lowered into the water, filled with twenty men each, nearly half of the ship's remaining crew.

Johnson was in the lead boat. The past few days had only sharpened his resolve and perhaps anger. Unlike many of his peers, his confidence in his country had never waned - shaken perhaps during Richard's last few disastrous years, but still firm. He wanted justice to be done.

Oddly enough in Anka, a similar operation was being carried out. Korgan Rondokin was one of the first to learn of two large vessels anchored some two miles from the pirate stronghold. Even there was a de facto "king" in place, there had been no organized resistance or concern for that matter, even though it was known that one of the ships was a Crusader vessel. Korgan had a healthy respect for the Crusaders though. He still remembered the one confrontation he had some eight years ago. Then he had attempted to lead a massive raid into the Crusader Sea with five of his own ships. Before he had even sighted land, two Crusader ships had sighted him - a sloop and a lightly armed frigate. In the space of six hours his flotilla had been all but destroyed.

Of course, it was unlikely that whatever was out there would try to attack. A more likely scenario would be a blockade, an equally unpleasant alternative. Whatever the reason, Korgan was determined to get rid of both ships. A decent breeze was blowing. Stepping his pegged leg on the deck he gave the order to cast off into the darkened sea.

So far all had gone well. The oars had been muffled and Johnson was sure he had the initiative. In the cloudy sky there was a faint sliver of the moon. His men were ready for action, carrying mostly battle-axes and long daggers. The outline of the Bombardier was in front of him, barely one hundred yards away.

Even the best-laid plans can go wrong though. Just at that decisive moment one of the sailors - seaman Rokes - adjusted his grip on the five-foot long axe he carried. Simultaneously he felt a sneeze coming. Rokes had been brought up in a well mannered home and he instinctively covered his nose, muffling it but dropping his axe in the process. It dropped into the water with a loud splash - certainly loud enough to be heard for several hundred yards.

Johnson swore. He had lost the element of surprise - already he could hear men shouting and a split second later a light appeared in the stern gallery. Thinking fast, he shouted out.

“Double time men! Prepare for battle!” Quickly turning he faced one of the 10 bowmen that he had assigned to the mission. “Seaman - signal the ship. We’ll need backup.”

lemon_squeezer2 wrote:Johnson swore. He had lost the element of surprise - already he could hear men shouting and a split second later a light appeared in the stern gallery. Thinking fast, he shouted out.

“Double time men! Prepare for battle!” Quickly turning he faced one of the 10 bowmen that he had assigned to the mission. “Seaman - signal the ship. We’ll need backup.”

On board the Bombardier, the watchman had woken Broadside.

"Cap'n!" he said. "There's noises on the water."

Broadside hurried to the deck, turning his ear to the wind. Then he caught sight of Johnson's boat signalling the Aterops with flashes of light.

"What does it say?" asked Viktor, coming up behind him.

"A stroke o' luck for us, that's what!" said Broadside. "That navy man and a pile o' his crew are on the boats headin' terwards the city, an' they've been engaged by some o' the slavers. He's sendin' to the ship fer help.

"Here's our chance, Bill! While they're cap'n's away with some o' his men, and with others left on Stormrider's ship, the navy vessel won' have half it's crew aboard. An' in the dark, they won' have time to think about their ballista until it's too late, an' we're in hand-ter-hand combat. Tell the men to make sail. I want to be alongside that ship afore an hour's out!"

As the men rushed to fill the captain's orders, Viktor turned to Broadside in bafflement.

"I thought you said that you didn't want to fight a Crusader vessel?" he said.

"So I did, but I changed me mind," said Broadside with a laugh, drawing his cutlass in anticipation. "I can' let them hurt me reputation, now can I. Besides, the worst thing a man c'n do for himself is do the same ol' thing. Always best to be unpredictable, then no one c'n predict what ye'll do."

That seemed rather sensible- and nonsensical- to Viktor, but he put the thought out of his head, and drew his own sword. He was ready for a fight. He didn't like the sea at all, and he had been on it, useless, for too long. And it was the Crusaders' fault in the first place, anyway.

The Bombardier soon drew alongside the unsuspecting Aterops, whose crew was consumed with going to the aid of their captain. By the time that the lights of the Bombardier were seen to be moving, the man o' war was coming directly towards them, and out of their ballista's range. Before they could turn and fire, the Bombardier was alongside, grappling hooks flying, and pirates swinging over.

There was little likelihood that the Aterops would be going to help its captain anytime soon.

Viktor swung from the bow of the Bombardier at the stern of the Aterops, through the open, shuttered, windows of the captain's cabin, and onto the floor beyond. He landed in a bit of a heap, as the swell knocked him down. As he got to his feet, he noticed a figure standing and looking at him.

Formendacil wrote:The Bombardier soon drew alongside the unsuspecting Aterops, whose crew was consumed with going to the aid of their captain. By the time that the lights of the Bombardier were seen to be moving, the man o' war was coming directly towards them, and out of their ballista's range. Before they could turn and fire, the Bombardier was alongside, grappling hooks flying, and pirates swinging over.There was little likelihood that the Aterops would be going to help its captain anytime soon.

Grid: H-21Location: At sea near Anka Dolour

Viktor, with a sword and his newly-acquired knife in his belt, grabbed his own hook and tossed it with all his might. It was an impressive throw, and it would have cleared the whole breadth of the Aterops if it had not snagged in the lower rigging. Tugging to make sure it was secure, Viktor jumped up on the railing of the Bombardier and jumped. He went down a foot and his stomach churned inside him, then the rope grew taunt and

Formendacil wrote:Viktor swung from the bow of the Bombardier at the stern of the Aterops, through the open, shuttered, windows of the captain's cabin, and onto the floor beyond. He landed in a bit of a heap, as the swell knocked him down. As he got to his feet, he noticed a figure standing and looking at him.

What in blazes??? It was that sassy Crusader woman from Port Crowne!

Viktor lurched upward and drew out his sword with a flourish. The woman stared at him. It was obvious she recognized him.

“You!” she hissed, and her hand went to her waist, groping. But whatever she was reaching for wasn’t there.

“Tyco!” she snarled, and snatched up the nearest thing within reach -- a sextant. Johnson’s own prized sextant, in fact. She threw it hard at Viktor, who just barely ducked. The sextant whirred over his head, out the window, and into the dark waters below.

“What the mega blocks?!” the woman growled, now grasping another one of Johnson’s possessions -- an inkwell, “Why the shift-brick would I want that. I was kidnapped!”

She threw the inkwell at Viktor, who this time didn’t duck fast enough. The bottle smashed into his chest and shattered, sending droplets of black fluid flying.

“You intellbrix!” growled Viktor. He had done nothing to this mad she-bear! What problem did she have? Viktor had had enough. The first time that they had literally run into one another, Viktor was vulnerable. Not this time. This time it was he who had the blade.

“Megablocks you Crusaders!” bellowed Viktor, and he charged, sword raised. The woman’s eyes widened and then turned red with fury. She dodged quickly behind Johnson’s desk, which received Viktor’s slashing blow instead of her. The sword shredded a detailed map of Dametreos and bit deep into the wood. With the blade temporarily lodged, the woman head-butted Viktor and leaped over the desk at the same time. They both crashed to the floor, the woman on top, and they furiously began to scrabbled at one another. Viktor rolled sides ways and flailed his fists, pounding into the chest of the woman. She retaliated with a vicious kick to the groin. Viktor groaned and nearly bit his tongue in two. He rolled sideways into to Johnson’s bunk and grabbed a sheet, throwing at the woman. The wad of the bedding tripped the woman, and her attempt to stand was aborted. Instead of dashing to the desk to retrieve his sword, Viktor, in his rage, simply threw himself on the woman. Again they wrestled, each exchanging blows. Viktor managed to straddle the woman, but then was kicked back with both feet. He fell backward, completely winded. As the woman stood, Viktor suddenly remembered his knife. Where was it? Luckily, it had slipped out of his belt after the woman had first hit him, or it could have skewered him while they had wrestled. Now it was quite near him, on the floor. Viktor lunged and snatched it up. The woman suddenly froze.

“Where’d you get that?” she snapped.

“I found it.” growled Viktor, “And ye best lay off if you don’t want to find it in your belly!”

“It’s mine!” she growled back, “Give it to me!”

“Do I look that stupid?” Viktor snapped.

“Yes, you mega blocks.”

“Get it then!”

Viktor tossed the knife to his left, where it hit the far wall and fell to the ground. The woman dived for it while Viktor sped toward the desk where his sword was. They both acquired their weapons at the same time, and turned toward one another in unison.

“You can’t throw a sword.” replied the woman. Like lightning, she threw the knife. Viktor wasn’t sure he saw it fly through the air. One moment it was in the woman’s, the nest, it was in his. Imbedded, that is: the blade sunk deep in the flesh his hand.